Flesh and Stone

What heartbeats are felt in your chest,
No one writes my name in blood,
Philosophical starvation powers
My ignorance, am I waking up?
How did you escape this way?
I communicate the wreckage
Of stone hands and cement hearts,
Creeping underneath security wire
Into failing brainwaves, disintegrate,
Oh how I see you, alive with death,
Flickering between the nothing
And the endless, endless everything,
No way back and the ideas fail!
Each minute I write grows stale
Within your mind, I vomit words
And you are sick of their smell,
You are sick of my flesh and stone,
Until I crumble, crumble, alone.

Poem © Phen Weston 2014


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